When I wrote the other day that Robbie had set up a first-rate mindfuck, I was right. When we last I reported in here, I was dressed as a very slutty French maid, waiting for unknown perverts to arrive, on the edge of my seat with apprehension. And when the guest did turn up–well, he turned out to be the very person I’d suggested to Robbie as an appropriate invitee, a sweet, charming, very Irish and very gregarious dominant named Frank that we’ve known for years. We’d never played with him before, but he’s been an avuncular and supportive force in our joint kink for so long that I couldn’t help but feel comfortable when I saw him.

We settled down to drink and talk, and we were all having such a good time laughing, chatting, and exchanging stories that before we knew it, we were 90 minutes and four drinks into the evening. I’d had some kisses, nipple tweaks, and light spanks from Frank, and lots of appreciative and pleasantly possessive affection and perversion from Robbie. Robbie was, he told me later, rather torn at that point in the evening, because while it seemed the perfect time for me to begin the blowjobs as advertised, it was also, most definitely, time for dinner. Prompted by my whines and complaints, Robbie lit the grill and I finished dressing the salad so we could all get something more solid than gin and tonics in our bellies.

Just then, Frank got decisively and remarkably ill.

Poor Frank. I take it that he is now rather mortified by his queasy stomach, although as I pointed out to Robbie, this is far from the first time a threesome we’ve arranged has ended in someone losing his or her lunch. (That’s another story for another time.) Robbie was as perfect in this slightly awkward situation as he always is in any emergency–he managed to take care of Frank and cook dinner in about 15 minutes, and he and I ended up having a very romantic and delicious meal while Frank took a restorative nap. Soon enough, Frank was feeling well enough to eat dinner himself, and, after borrowing a toothbrush, was, according to Robbie, more than a little frisky.

By this point, though, it was pushing 10:30, and I’d been on tenterhooks for at least eight hours. I was exhausted, and so I went to bed. Frank declined an offer to sleep on our couch, and drove home after he felt able to do so safely. And Robbie came to bed with a raging hardon, asking me what he should do with it. Apparently, I told him sleepily to “stick it in my mouth or my cunt”; he did both, in that order, and then we both faded into dreams.

The next morning, we talked about what had been good and bad about the evening, and processed it all. It was a comfortable conversation. But then Robbie told me that Frank was free on Friday afternoon, and I blanched. I didn’t want to go through another afternoon of dressing to the nines, sitting on pins and needles, greeting our friend and making small talk, all in order to get to that emotional and psychological alignment we were at when things went adrift.

So I said I’d think about it. And a few minutes later, I came back to Robbie and I told him I’d agree to another attempted threesome on one condition: I had to be blindfolded, brutalized, and objectified. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

I’m fully aware that my desire for intensity and discomfort is related to my nervousness, and to how unsure I am about whether this kind of play is something I want to do in future. I want to be made to be with these two affectionate, handsome, and highly sexual men. That’s okay with me; I’m glad I’m aware of my own emotional landscape in this. As I’ve told Robbie in the past, if I’m going to be led down his primrose bath, I want to be at least in part the agent of my own corruption. So I am both sick and aroused at the afternoon of degradation and humiliation I’ve requested, which is due to start in an hour.

And I will report back. I don’t expect that things will be as chaste as the last time, but if they are, that’s also fine. One of the best things about what happened with Frank is that Robbie and I realized that in the end, the best thing about playing with other folks is the care that goes into it. Or, as Robbie said, “Take care of the people and the sex will take care of itself.” That seems a good motto to me.